


process

by fnowae



Series: dissonant 'verse [6]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, This is gonna be the cutest thing you've ever fucking read, have fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 19:56:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11721453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fnowae/pseuds/fnowae
Summary: Anonymous said:dissonant!Patrick goes to physical therapy every week. Joe drives him to his appointments and they go out for dinner after. One week, Patrick picks a very formal restaurant after his appointment and does what he'd been working so hard on in therapy - kneeling on his prosthetics and presenting Joe with a ring.





	process

**Author's Note:**

> asjndksksbsen as soon as I saw this prompt I knew I HAD to write it. this is the purest shit I've seen in my life. 
> 
> in other news...a prequel for this 'verse is on the table...who wants to read Patrick's suffering in full detail? WHOOP.

Patrick is pretty damn good at getting around with his prosthetics. 

He can move pretty quickly and nimbly with them, get around most anywhere easily, and he does it so flawlessly that Joe sometimes forgets that they aren't actual legs. In fact, when Patrick had first gotten the prosthetics, the doctor had admitted he'd never seen anyone pick up walking on them so quickly, and Patrick was lucky it came so easily to him. Joe knows this because Patrick had relayed it to him one night with a strange mix of pride and bitterness. 

But that's not to say it's a perfect system. 

Patrick can walk and jog and get around easily enough, but things that don't fall under "getting around" aren't his strong point. 

Patrick constantly complains of how fucked his sense of balance is on the prosthetics, and how he still can't quite get used to way the joint imitating a knee bends _almost_ like a real knee, but differently enough that he can rarely bend down without tumbling to the ground. As good as he is at walking, things like running too quickly, jumping, kneeling down, or maneuvering uneven terrain often end with Patrick landing unceremoniously on the ground. 

The final straw comes when Joe drops a handful of change on the ground, and Patrick tries to kneel down and help him look for it. His sense of balance decides to fuck him over, and he tumbles forward, straight into Joe, before he can even so much as pick up a penny. 

"Patrick," Joe begins sort of thoughtfully, "have you ever considered going to physical therapy?"

And Patrick grins like he's never heard a better idea in his life. 

Joe knows that Patrick had a brief stint with PT before; right after he got the prosthetics. But he'd picked up walking so easily that the therapist had decided he didn't really need the extra help, and had sent him on his way. 

Now, Patrick apprehensively calls up the physical therapist again as Joe watches him stammer anxiously into the phone - the happiness at the idea from Joe is far gone. 

"Uh, yeah, hi, this is Patrick? Yes, I know it's been a while! I was, um, going to ask if I could start coming in again? Just for a little? I'm still not too good at - oh, okay! Yeah! That's great!"

Patrick puts down the phone, turns to Joe, and informs him that he now has hour-long PT sessions at six every Tuesday. 

Joe drives Patrick to the first session, two days later, and Patrick is jittery the whole time. He does that thing where his hand roves down to the place his prosthetics meet skin, which Joe knows means he's thinking about them. 

"It's gonna go great," he tries to assure Patrick. 

Patrick smiles softly at him. "Thank you."

When they get there, Joe lets Patrick get out and head inside. He spends the hour driving around downtown, with the radio on at full volume, and he's back right in time to pick Patrick up. 

"How'd it go?" he asks when Patrick gets back into the car. 

"Good." Patrick throws him a smile. Then he adds with a laugh, "Made me hungry as hell though."

"Wanna hit up a burger place? There's one right around here," Joe suggests. He's hungry too, now that he thinks about it. 

"Yeah." Patrick nods. "That sounds great."

And so a new tradition is born. 

Every Tuesday, Patrick goes into his PT session at six, Joe picks him up at seven, and they go out for dinner. They never go to the same place twice, and end up hitting restaurants they never knew existed. Joe actually thinks of it as an adventure, really. He tells Patrick this one night, when their restaurant of choice is a Mexican-Italian fusion place (which is much better than it sounds, if Joe's enchilada lasagna is anything to go by), and Patrick laughs. 

"Yeah," he agrees. "It kind of is."

One night, when they're grabbing a meal from a food truck specializing in pizza that just so happened to be parked nearby, Joe offhandedly asks, "What have you been working on, anyway?"

"Hm?" Patrick asks through a mouthful of his slice of cheesy three-meat pizza. 

"PT," Joe elaborates. "You still focusing on that balance shit?"

Patrick's face changes to a cryptic stare. "I guess you could say that."

"Okay." Joe shrugs, which in no way encompasses how absolutely confused he is by that reaction. But he knows there are some things about this Patrick doesn't like to talk about, so he doesn't push it. The last thing he ever wants to do is make Patrick uncomfortable. He reasons that really, it doesn't matter what Patrick is working on in physical therapy, as long as it's helping him. 

At least, it doesn't matter until Joe finally finds out what it had been. 

Joe has his eyes on a brewery in the area that apparently has killer onion rings, but when Patrick rejoins him in the car and he starts to explain this, Patrick goes a little red and mutters, "Uh, actually, I had a plan for tonight. By which I mean...I already have reservations somewhere else."

"Oh." Joe's eyes widen. Patrick doesn't usually like to pick where they go out to eat. "Okay. Where?"

The address Patrick gives him leads to a restaurant that, at first, Joe is sure can't be the right one. But Patrick nods his affirmation when they pull up, so Joe sighs and parks. 

"This place is fancy," he comments as they stroll inside, hand in hand. "I feel underdressed."

"It's fine," Patrick says. Joe thinks it's supposed to be reassuring, but Patrick's voice is distant and anxious and it really has the opposite effect. Joe squeezes his hand once, which has become his go to way to say _I know something's wrong, and you can tell me if you want_ , but Patrick just smiles nervously at him and turns back to the man sitting at the front desk. Yeah, this restaurant is fancy enough to have a fucking _front desk_. 

Patrick gives his name for the reservation, and a waiter arrives to lead them to their table - a sheltered two-person booth near the back of the place. 

Joe catches the waiter staring at Patrick's prosthetics with a look of vague disgust on his face. He throws the waiter the darkest glare he can muster, and the waiter startles and yanks his gaze away. Joe huffs and squeezes Patrick's hand tighter. 

They're seated, and finally the asshole waiter is gone, leaving them with two menus. 

Joe scans them, eyes immediately going for fettuccine alfredo, because it's the only dish he recognizes. Everything here is named in a bunch of fancy French and is probably actually octopus shit smothered in melted gold that they can call "gourmet" because it's expensive. 

The waiter returns with waters. He casts Patrick another distasteful look, and Joe has to hold back from attacking the guy. Patrick's obviously trying to let them have a nice evening, and this guy is fucking ruining it. 

They order - Joe getting the fettuccine, and Patrick getting something Joe can't understand and hopes isn't actually octopus shit. The waiter nods shortly and takes their menus, stalking off only after making sure to give Patrick another negative look. 

"Well, he's an ass," Joe comments drily. 

Patrick looks up from picking at his fingernails and frowns. "Huh? Why?"

Joe raises an eyebrow, perplexed. Patrick is always the most perceptive person when it comes to people acting rude about his prosthetics. There's no way he'd actually just missed how obviously horrible the waiter was being. Something's up. 

"You alright?" Joe asks, concerned. He wonders if something has reminded Patrick of the blizzard again - it happens every so often, sometimes with completely random things, and Joe has learned that when it does it's best to get Patrick home, play some music, and cuddle him until he can forget about it again. 

"Yeah." Patrick nods, tapping on the table anxiously in absolute contradiction of his answer. 

"Do we need to go home?" Joe asks. 

Patrick's eyes widen and he shakes his head. "Oh, no, it's - it's not like that. Can we just...enjoy our dinner?"

"Okay," Joe agrees. "Let's do that."

Their waiter may be an asshole, but he has excellent timing, showing up with their food that very second, and leaving as quickly as possible. Joe digs in and finds that it's actually pretty fucking delicious. Patrick seems to be enjoying his food as well, which Joe deduces isn't octopus shit, unless octopus shit suddenly looks suspiciously like some kind of steak dish. 

When they've almost finished, Patrick pipes up, voice shaking. "Hey, uh, Joe?"

"Yeah?" Joe's head snaps up, his first thought being that he's ready to take Patrick home right this second if he needs to. 

"Uh, well...remember when you asked what I was working on in PT?" Patrick asks slowly, setting down his fork next to his plate. 

"Uh, yes?" Joe replies.

"Um, well...I was working on this." Patrick takes a deep breath, then stands up and exits the booth, moving to stand in front of Joe instead, and then promptly gets down on one knee. 

Joe is so filled with pride at the sight of Patrick kneeling and not falling over that he doesn't quite register what's going on until Patrick pulls the ring out of his pocket. 

"Uh, I was just..." Patrick's face is bright red as he stutters out, "W - will you marry me?"

Joe's jaw drops. "You - Patrick, you - you learned how to do this for _me_?"

Patrick blinks and mumbles, "Uh, well, yeah, but I - um, I-"

"Oh! I - yes!" Joe says, realizing he'd left the question unanswered. "Yes! Absolutely! Fuck."

Patrick breaks into the widest smile Joe's ever seen. "You - really?"

"Yes!" Joe responds, beaming back. 

Patrick laughs giddily and gets back up, slipping the ring onto Joe's finger when Joe offers his hand. "Oh god, I was so nervous, I thought I was going to mess it up even after so much practice and I thought I was going to fall over and you were going to say no and-"

"Patrick. Sh." Joe shakes his head, grinning ear-to-ear. "It was perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> pLEASE send me prompts or headcanons for this 'verse at my tumblr (vicesandvelociraptors) because I'm having so much fun writing for it and I'm gonna run out of ideas eventually so help me out


End file.
